I have a theory about being brilliant. If you do something I don’t know how to do, then you must be the best at it. Take architecture. If you are an architect, I think you are the most brilliant architect that ever existed, simply because I have no idea what an architect does or how one would architect anything anyway. You are brilliant. You can show me a model of a decrepit house, but if it looks complicated and is on a computer, I'm impressed.

The same theory applies to everybody who does things I don’t know how to do: play guitar, cook with patience, problem sets, dance like a normal person, clean my room. The list goes on.

If the theory works, and if you've never contributed to Street, you may think that I am the best Streeter that ever lived. And here I am to prove you, and my theory, totally and completely wrong. Oooh… this is gonna’ get real meta real fast.

Those names down there, those guys are the brilliant ones. They win awards in design and with words. They put this lil’ ol’ rag together without (OK, with minimal) complaints. They drink classy beer. They discuss movies drunk, high or sober (34st.com). They (hopefully) entertain you with gossip (p. 3), reviews (like every page, c’mon) and humor (p. 18). They let you know when Shoutouts are coming (hold yer’ horses, people). They certainly rock.

I hope most people feel that way about those they work with. And play with. With single–digit months left (this is my aaaaaahhhhhhh face) I’m constantly reminded to surround myself with my favorite people. The ones that make singing “Africa” at Smoke’s memorable, ones that will venture to drag shows, ones that will generally enhance COLLEGE–WOO–HOO.

And the ones that slap me out of sap fests like these, so I can remember to embrace all the brilliance.

Street your heart out,


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